by Betty Neels
Charity reassured her and at the same time became aware that the professor had seen her. She looked away at once, but not before she had remarked his utter stillness; he might have been carved from stone. She peeped again after a few minutes and found him gone. She had barely grasped that fact when she heard his voice, calm and pleasant, greeting Mr and Mrs Boekerchek and replying courteously to the introductions being made. It was Mrs Boekerchek who cried cheerfully:
“Here’s someone you know—you and Charity are old friends,” and before Charity could so much as say good evening he had interposed:
“Indeed we are. May I make that my excuse for having a few words with her?”
The question was purely a rhetorical one; there was nothing for it but to walk through the door he was holding open. Her heart was beating fit to choke her, she had no feelings at all save that of delight at seeing him again, but she held on to her good sense and when he shut the door, she stood against it, ready to go inside again.
She wondered what he wanted to say to her and was surprised when he inquired mildly: “Why did you sit with your eyes shut—were you not well?”
He must have splendid sight. “It’s difficult to think of Mimi as a dying TB if I look at her.”
He let that pass. “You did not return to England,” he stated the fact rather than asked a question, and then: “Oh, come away from that door, girl—never tell me you’re afraid of me?”
She assured him in a tight voice that she wasn’t; she could hardly tell him that it was herself she was afraid of; it would be so very easy to fall into his arms, he stood so close. She stifled the preposterous idea and edged warily into the corridor as she answered his question.
“No—just as I was on the point of leaving there was another case.” She explained briefly about Mrs Malone and then, as the orchestra started to tune up for the second act: “Ought you not to go back?”
He shrugged enormous shoulders and she thought what a pity it was that men didn’t wear black ties more often; he looked elegantly trendy although he had no embroidered shirt or frilled cuffs, but his suit was superbly cut and the tucked shirt and black tie were of the finest. She thoroughly approved of him.
His voice was silken. “You look nice too, Charity,” and just for a moment, forgetting everything else, she grinned at him engagingly—but only for a moment. “You should go back,” she said for a second time, longing for him to stay.
His voice was still silky. “What do you think of my doormat?”
Charity blushed. “Oh, I do beg your pardon for ever saying that—I never meant—she looks charming, so pretty and—and slim.”
“I dislike thin women.” His eyes roamed over her person and she felt deep satisfaction that she had bought the dress. Without stopping to think she asked: “Have you given her the gemel ring?”
The silence seemed to stretch on for ever. She stood like stone, wishing with all her heart that she could recall her words—her foolish tongue. He was so quiet that she thought he must be angry.
“No—that I shall give only to the woman I love.”
Her eyes flew to his, trying to read their expression. “But you must give it to her—you must love her if you’re going to marry her…”
She faltered at his low rueful laugh. “But how can I marry her? And it is your fault, Charity Dawson, for how can I ask her to marry me when I am faced with the certainty of fathering spectacled children who do not know how to be naughty?”
“I’m sorry, I’m so very sorry…” he cut her short again with his cold silky voice. “Too late. You have dogged my footsteps at every turn, you have set my well-ordered life awry and cast doubts upon my future—my peace of mind is destroyed.”
She was appalled and she had no answer, but presently she managed in a whisper: “If there is anything—anything I can do to put things right, I’ll do it gladly, truly I will.” With a childish desire to please him she added: “I’m going back to England tomorrow, really I am, so you won’t have to see me again—I’m sorry I’ve upset your life—I haven’t meant to.” Indeed she had not, quite the reverse; the knowledge made it impossible for her to say any more, so she slid back to the loge door, and without saying goodbye, slipped inside.
For the rest of the opera she sat with her eyes glued to the stage. Only when the lights finally went up and Mrs Boekerchek waved cheerfully at the professor and directed her in kindly fashion to do the same did she glance fleetingly in his direction and lift a stiff hand in answer to his curt unsmiling bow.
Somehow she got through the rest of the evening; the drive back, the cheerful talk, the vague plans for her return to Holland and then the cheerful goodbyes. She had to get through a more intimate half hour with the Boekercheks too, for they insisted upon a little chat and a final drink before they went to bed. Only when she had packed the lovely dress away and got into bed did she give way to her feelings. She would look a fright in the morning, but what did that matter?
CHAPTER EIGHT
MR BOEKERCHEK, after a leisurely breakfast, had left to go to his office for a couple of hours and Mrs Boekerchek was still in bed. Charity was on her way back from her bath and a cup of coffee in the kitchen when the telephone rang and in answer to her hullo the professor said: “Charity.”
Through her sudden excitement she fancied that he had spoken her name with urgency. She said carefully so that he shouldn’t hear how excited she was: “Good morning, Professor,” and was rewarded by a small exasperated sound.
“When are you leaving?” he wanted to know.
“My flight goes this evening. I’m leaving here this afternoon, I want to…”
She was cut brusquely short. “Don’t go, Charity. I’m coming over to see you. I’ll be there within the hour, there is something I have to talk to you about.”
“Well…” she began, but he had already rung off. She sat down by the telephone table and tried to think clearly, a task much impeded by the chaotic state of her mind. Why should he wish to see her? He had seen her last night and the meeting had hardly been to either’s advantage, had it? Indeed, she had had the distinct impression that he regarded her as a nuisance in his life and would be glad to be shot of her. But he had said that he wasn’t going to marry the doormat…
Charity leaned back and allowed herself a delicious flight of fancy; supposing he had discovered that he loved her—it seemed unlikely, but just supposing—it would be a natural thing for him to rush to den Haag and tell her, wouldn’t it? After all, he hadn’t known until she had told him that she was going back to England today. But here common sense crept in; she was forced to admit that he hadn’t known that she was in Holland either, and if he had been in love with her, he would have been in England by now, looking for her.
He had gone looking for her when he wanted her to nurse Mr Boekerchek. She sought for an excuse and found it in the natural assumption that he had been too busy. But what about a letter, or the telephone? She dismissed these at once. One did not propose by telephone, not someone like the professor at any rate, and members of the medical profession tended not to write letters unless they were forced to—they had secretaries, and when they had a few minutes to spare they dictated their correspondence, and no man could possibly dictate a proposal of marriage, or even a love letter.
She was aroused from her daydreaming by Mrs Boekerchek’s voice calling from her bedroom. “There you are, honey,” said that lady, still a little sleepy. “I reckon I’ll have my coffee in bed. Have you had your breakfast?”
Charity drove her thoughts sternly back to more sober channels. “Yes, thank you,” she answered, and remembered that she hadn’t. “I’ll go and tell Nel, shall I?”
But instead of doing so she sat down again on the side of the bed and stared happily at nothing.
Mrs Boekerchek, who had composed herself for another short nap, opened her eyes again. “You feel all right, honey?” she asked anxiously.
Charity smiled. “Marvellous. Professor van Tijlen telephoned just
now—he wants to see me before I go, he said he’d come over right away—you don’t mind?”
Mrs Boekerchek sat up; this was far better than another nap. “Well, now, isn’t that nice? I did wonder why he wanted to see you last night. Do you know why he’s coming?”
Charity got off the bed. “No—at least, I’m not sure.” She smiled again, deliciously, still wrapped in her foolish dreams. “I’ll go and see about your breakfast and then I’d better get dressed.”
She drifted away to the kitchen where she cut herself a slice of bread and butter and took it back to her bedroom to eat while she decided what she should wear. The green jersey, she judged, would do nicely, and she began to dress feverishly.
She was ready, nicely made up, delicately scented and with her hair brushed into a tawny topknot, when the apartment bell rang. Mrs Boekerchek’s quite unnecessary: “There he is, honey,” still echoed down the hall as she opened the door.
Professor van Tijlen walked in with the briefest of nods and once inside, asked urgently: “Where can we talk?”
She opened the sitting-room door, her silly dreams evaporating under the briskness of his manner; anyone looking less like a man in love she had yet to see, but still hope died hard; he wasn’t a man to show his feelings upon his handsome face; perhaps he had been anxious about her leaving before he could see her. His first words bore out her guess, and her spirits, fed by heaven knew what romantic ideas, rose.
“I was afraid that you might have caught an early flight.”
She sat down composedly and waved him to a chair. “You didn’t want to know last night, you could have asked then.”
“There was no need at that time—it was only this morning when Corrie telephoned me that it became so vital to stop you.”
“Corrie?”
He sounded impatient. “Juffrouw Blom.”
His words sank like leaden weights into her brain and tore the dreams to shreds. She picked a tiny thread of cotton off the pleated skirt of the green dress; a pretty dress, she thought idly, and quite wasted on her companion. There was no point in her speaking: he was obviously intent on telling her in his own good time what it was all about—besides, there was a lump in her throat which would choke her if she so much as opened her mouth. She had been a fool to imagine even for one moment that he was even faintly interested in her—hadn’t he given proof of that over and over again?
She straightened her shoulders and gave him a look of calm inquiry.
He said heavily: “Corrie fell down early this morning and sprained her ankle. She is a heavy woman, as you know, and it happened before anyone was about, there was quite an interval of time before I could be told and get her to hospital to have it X-rayed and bandaged. She is in considerable pain, but she insisted on going back to the Home, to her own bed. She will have to remain there for three or four days before she can start passive movements and I can put on a visco-paste stocking, and then another ten days before she can do without it.” He paused and studied Charity’s face. “You know what I have come to ask of you, don’t you? You see there is no one else—no one else who knows about the home. Corrie’s assistant is on her annual holiday—Spain, I believe, and although she has a splendid staff they are none of them capable of the nursing side of the job, nor have they any authority.”
“You will forgive me,” said Charity rather coldly, “if I’m a little surprised that you should ask me to do this after the talk we had.”
“Ah, you forget,” his voice was silky once more, “I remember most clearly that you said you would do anything. Your exact words were: ‘Anything I can do to put things right, I will do gladly, truly I will’.”
“Yes, but that was about the doorm…about…” She didn’t even know the girl’s name; she couldn’t go on calling her the doormat for ever.
He got to his feet; there was neither impatience nor annoyance upon his face. “I understand,” he moved to the door. “Well, I must get back.”
Charity reached the door at the same time as he did. “I’ll come,” she said in a goaded voice. “You’ll have to wait while I pack some things—it won’t be for long, will it? I can come back and get the rest if I need to.”
He was standing very close to her. “You mean that?”
“Yes, of course. I—I owe it to you, don’t I?” She looked at him with her calm green eyes and made to slip past him, to be caught and held and kissed with a kind of controlled savagery which took her breath. Not the kind of kiss, she thought incoherently, which the doormat would stand for.
He let her go at once and disconcerted her very much by exclaiming: “Now why on earth should I have done that?”
She was saved from answering this awkward question by the entry of Mrs Boekerchek, wrapped in her dressing gown and agog for news. Charity, leaving the professor to explain, went away to stuff a few necessities into her overnight bag and tidy her slightly flurried person. She had never been kissed like that before, and it had knocked the sense out of her head. Possibly, she thought unhappily, that was why he had done it.
They spoke little on their journey to Utrecht; it was still early, but the morning traffic was thick on the road and the professor was driving the Lamborghini with a ferocious patience which warned her to hold her tongue. Only when he made some chance remark did she answer briefly, and when he drew up before the Home she got out without a word and waited while he got her case, before walking beside him through its austere door, into the dark hall and up the stairs.
Juffrouw Blom, outsize on her feet, was truly enormous in bed, a fact considerably enhanced by the voluminous garment she was wearing. It was of some white cotton material, cut high at the neck and with long full sleeves; a kind of tent, Charity decided, eyeing it fascinated. Juffrouw Blom was frankly a very large woman, but was she justified in concealing herself in such a garment? She pondered the problem while the professor greeted his patient briefly and then turned to her.
“Charity, I must leave you now—I have a list,” she guessed he was already late for it. “Juffrouw Blom will explain everything which has to be done. I’ll do my best to call in some time today.”
He nodded briskly, said something in a gentle voice to Juffrouw Blom and went away.
Charity turned to her companion. “Oh, well,” she observed cheerfully, “there’s nothing like being thrown in at the deep end,” and remembered as she spoke that she would have to cancel her flight and do something about getting her fare back. No one, now she came to think about it, had mentioned money—presumably she was to be paid—and there were the rest of her clothes to fetch. She would have to worry about these things later on, but now she obeyed Juffrouw Blom’s injunction to draw up a chair and have everything explained to her.
It took quite a time, and when finally Charity had a clear picture of her duties, it was almost noon. Bep, the most senior of the assistants, had brought in coffee, conferred briefly with her superior, shaken hands with Charity, and departed again, presumably to do something about the midday dinner, a communal affair to save the old people too much work and to ensure that they had the right diet.
“Bread and cheese and jam,” stated Juffrouw Blom, “is what they would eat if they were on their own. They pay…” she laughed hollowly, “what they pay covers perhaps the cost of the potatoes; the bills for the good meat and vegetables and ice-cream go to Professor van Tijlen, and when I point out to him that these things cost a great deal of money, he laughs, nicely, of course, but of economy he will not hear a word. Rich he may be,” she went on, half grumbling, “but it is not right—he pays me a great deal too much, as well, and when I tell him this he laughs again and pats my arm and says: ‘Go and buy yourself something pretty to wear’.”
She cast her rather fine eyes up the ceiling and sighed. “Me!” she said, chuckling.
Charity had listened to every word, fascinated. It was marvellous to hear about the professor—the professor she hadn’t known about; even though she loved him, she had thought of him as an elegan
t and cool man who, although he worked hard, liked the good things of life. Now she saw that she had been mistaken; that he was warm-hearted and generous and capable of inspiring loyalty and affection, and that this was a part of life which he kept secret from almost everyone. She leaned forward and said earnestly: “You know, the professor’s right—you’d look super in a blue nightie with a round neck and those little cape sleeves—I saw some in den Haag last week.”
Juffrouw Blom stared at her. “You think so? But I am a mountain.”
“Never mind that, mountains can be the right shape, can’t they? Look, when I go back for my things, will you let me get one, just to see? It might please him enormously to see that you have taken his advice.”
“I had never thought of that.” Juffrouw Blom’s severe features relaxed into a smile. “Yes, let us do that.” She looked at Charity sharply. “You will not laugh? And the professor…”
“He won’t laugh,” said Charity gently, “and I certainly won’t. And please will you call me Charity?”
“Indeed, yes, for I feel that we are to be friends, and you must call me Corrie.”
Charity rose. “I’d love to. Now I’m going to get something for that ankle—it’s getting painful, isn’t it?—and then I’ll go and see about your lunch. Bep goes off duty this afternoon, you said, so if I change into an overall, and have lunch too, I can take over while you have a nap, can’t I?”
